Body Love

Seeking my pre-isolation attitude toward my body is hard, guys.

My relationship with my body has always been tumultuous at best. I was raised in ballet from the age of 5, and had some questionable taste in men for a few years as a teen and young adult. Plus, you know, life as a North American surrounded by constant media has an impact, so my body image has always been delicate. Unfortunately, this is something that pretty much everyone experiences, and I’m so glad to see that body positivity is something that’s becoming more mainstream!

In the last several years I’ve gotten addicted to the gym (in a healthy way), I try to eat well, and with the love of my partner and friends, I am respecting just how much my body can do. I have tried to foster a loving relationship with it. I may not be able to fit into that killer outfit without feeling like an overstuffed sausage, but I can dance, walk, jump, and lift substantial weight without hurting myself (usually. Let’s be real. I’m pretty clumsy). Pushups and planks no longer terrify me, so I’m rather proud of that. Burpees…burpees will always suck. I don’t care who you are. If you say they’re fine, you’re either super human or a robot, in my opinion. But I digress!

With infertility, though, I have to say that it’s hard not to feel like my body has betrayed me. Like “I’ve gotten healthy and strong, and helped you to do so much more than you’ve ever been able to do before. Can’t you do this one thing for me? Please?!” Body doesn’t answer. Body sips it’s fancy coffee and ignores me, like a petulant teenager being asked to mow the lawn. I suppose that’s a good thing, because if it did answer, that would open up a whole barrel of other possible issues…

I have had problems looking in the mirror before, and finding myself too ugly for words (remember those abusive relationships I alluded to? They leave deeper marks than just physical). More recently there was a surreal feeling of being okay with, even liking, the image of myself in the mirror, and being proud of the work I had done, muscles I had toned, and the strength I had gained, while simultaneously being disgusted with my body for being presumably barren. We’ve tried all of the possible things, even 3 failed inseminations! Oh, good. Another friend who barely even thought about getting pregnant is expecting again. How nice for them. And their body that does these things so easily.

Now, flashback to 2017. The year that my husband (Kyle) and I dubbed the year of “F*&% it! See what happens!” So, I decided to see what all the fuss was about and treat myself to a boudoir photo shoot. Kyle had always wanted me to do this, to see myself as he sees me, and to appreciate myself more. I went for my initial consult, and booked the shoot for about a month and a half away. I then began to panic. As soon as I got home, I started to wonder what the hell I had just signed myself up for. After the year of financial acrobatics we had just been through, why was I spending so much money on PHOTOS?! Of me?! Randomly?! I called a friend who had had them done, and mentioned the small (okay, not small) panic attack I was experiencing. She said many things. The thing I remember the most is her asking why I didn’t feel that investing in myself was worth it. Why indeed? That changed my mindset almost instantly.

I didn’t diet like crazy, or go to the gym more (that would be ridiculous) because she (the photographer) really does want you to look like YOU, and be proud of it. I did drink lots of water, and made sure to try to be well rested, at least.

So. I went for my photo shoot.

Now, I have a background in Theatre. I’ve been naked on stage. Hell, I’ve done nude choreography while covered in paint and wearing a gas mask (performance art is a hell of a thing, folks). But that wasn’t ME — that was a character I put on. I’ve also changed in front of rooms full of fellow actors and stage hands, and been a happy, naked hippie running around with my happy, naked hippie friends in my teens and early twenties. That didn’t feel terribly out of place, at the time. This felt entirely different, and I wasn’t completely sure that I wouldn’t barf in front of the camera. Nothing says “sexy” like a lady in lingerie losing her lunch on film, amiright? This was ME. There was nowhere to run, and I had to let myself be vulnerable.

I have to say that, once I got my makeup and hair done, and we started shooting, she immediately set me at ease, and I started to relax. When she mentioned that I took direction well, and I told her that I used to be an actor, her eyes lit up and she got very excited, saying “Oh, THIS is gonna be fun!”

It really was! Every now and then I had a “Holy shit, I’m naked in front of a stranger while she takes pictures of me” moment in my head, but I shook it off and powered through. Ultimately I’m glad I went. I left feeling strong and proud of myself, and the photos turned out beautifully.

Kyle went with me for “the reveal”, and really enjoyed that the photographer seemed to echo things he tells me all the time. She told me to catch myself if I wanted to zero in on parts of my body that I hate, because no one else notices them. She said that I should look at the photos as if I were looking at someone else, because I would NEVER say the things I would say to/about myself to another woman — and she’s absolutely right. Kyle was vibrating with satisfaction, as he tells me things like that ALL THE TIME. He always sees me frowning at myself in the mirror, or answering a compliment he gives me with a negative, and says “If we had a daughter, would you want her to see and hear you saying those mean things to yourself? What kind of a lesson is that?” Heh. Well damn. That is a heck of a point.

At the very least, it was something that made me nervous, and I did it. If it also helps me to love myself a bit more, then it’s money well spent, and I would absolutely recommend anyone doing this for themselves. I mean…maybe not during a global pandemic when the world is on fire…later. Not just women! We all have hangups about our bodies, whether it’s love handles that we’re not big fans of, or something more internal, like a disability (or inability to conceive a child…for example). I am endeavouring to appreciate and love all of the things that I can do, and that I am proud of. It sounds cliché, and like something Oprah would preach, but we really do have to figure out how to love ourselves more. The whole world would be a better place, with less anger and pain, if we could just love more in general.

We may never have a child, though I swear I’ve met my daughter in my dreams. Both Kyle and I have dreamt about a baby girl — that’s always fun to wake up from…and I want a little girl, so I can teach her to love herself. I mean, I’d teach any kid to love themselves, I’m not a monster, but I have had my own experiences as a girl and woman in this society and I want to fight back by helping create a kid that won’t buckle under that body dysmorphic garbage. But then I check myself, and I picture this bumper sticker that I saw once that read “Don’t follow me. I’m lost, too.” Am I the best person to be teaching self-love?

Since we started living in isolation in mid March, I’ve been working out in the basement instead of taking my usual classes at the gym. I don’t really have any workout gear except a set of small hand weights, a yoga mat, and water jugs. I also have been eating differently, as have we all! I won’t tell you how much cake I’ve consumed during these past few months. I’m trying to be gentle with myself, and be proud that I’m working out at all. I’m trying to handle stress while still making reasonably healthy choices. I’m doing my best. We all are.

I’m lucky to have access to a plethora of online workouts — even workouts from the same discipline that we use at my gym. There are several differences about these online daily workout classes that I’m taking, but the main thing I’m noticing is what it’s doing to my mind. The exercise is great, and the classes are challenging and awesome, but I’m used to taking them with other people — of varying fitness levels. Some people I usually work out with are friends, and some are complete strangers, but we all have this feeling (as we’re trying not to die during these classes) that we’re in this together. Even my phenomenal local instructors are fierce and strong women that I admire, and they’re really fit, but also NORMAL HUMANS.

I’ve been getting more an more more negative with myself and my body image over the last few months, and it just hit me — I’ve been isolated, yes, but I’ve also been isolated doing daily workouts by myself, with a video screen in front of me, with endless parades of impossibly fit, ripped, skinny people teaching the classes. So not only have I lost my “we’re in this together” buddies from the gym, sweating and swearing right along with me, but I’ve lost real, live instructors with real, live fitness goals. The videos I’m watching are also from several years ago, when shaming people to work harder was more prevalent, and it was okay to scream at people that “My mother moves faster than you!” or “Don’t you want to burn calories? Don’t you want a tiny waist? THIS IS HOW YOU WILL GET IT!” Okay, fair enough, but I need to get back to that place from 2017, where I was proud of what my body could do, as opposed to how small or “tight” I could make it.

I love working out and feeling strong, but guilt myself too much for splurging on high calorie foods or drinks. Why? Why do I do that? A piece of cake won’t hurt me. Would I judge another woman this way? ABSOLUTELY NOT. I really do see all body types as beautiful, except my own? Wtf is that?! Don’t I deserve that love, too? Where did the empowered woman from 2017 go? Or the happy, naked hippie kid I used to be? Granted, I am running around without proper clothing much more now, but that’s in my own home, and we’re isolated in a pandemic. I need to be more conscious of my thoughts, and be kinder to myself, both inside and out. Oprah’s right: We need to love ourselves more. And each other.